The Tour (37 page)

‘Well,
félicitations
, Richard. They are beautiful. Do you know what they are to be called?’

‘Yes. We’d like to call the boy James, after Edith’s father; that’s what we’d decided if it was a boy. And Juliet, after my mother, if it was a girl. I suppose we will just use both.’

He was beaming but seemed hesitant, almost nervous, to pick them up.

‘Go on,’ she whispered.

‘I’m afraid I’ll wake them,’ he replied.

Solange reached in and gathered the tiny babies up, placing one in each of his arms. They stirred and instantly fell back to sleep. Richard Buckley looked at his children and Solange saw raw emotion on his face for the first time since she’d known him. He gazed at their tiny faces and fingers, amazed at the miracle of life despite all his experience of death.

Eventually he spoke: ‘Thank you, Solange, from the bottom of my heart, for delivering them safely and for taking care of them until Edith has had her rest.’ He glanced at the bottle and tin of Nestlé powdered milk, still on the table. ‘Poor girl, it must have been exhausting for her.’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I’m glad I was able to help. They are healthy little ones. They are enjoying the milk from the tins. I have never seen that before but they are drinking it happily, so all is well.’

He said, clearly a little embarrassed, ‘Well, to nurse twins would have been very difficult for her at first. I’m sure they will do wonderfully on the powdered milk, for a day or two. I can’t tell you how grateful I…
Edith
and I… are for all your help. Now if you don’t mind taking care of them for just a few more minutes, I’ve been in these clothes all night so I just need to clean up. I don’t want to asphyxiate my children. I won’t be long.’

‘Of course.’

‘Was that Dr Richard I heard?’ Mrs Canty came bustling into the kitchen, as outside the winter morning was brightening up at last. ‘He must have been over the moon with the little beauties, God bless them. Anything from herself above? Is she interested in looking at her children? Not a bit of it I suppose, and you up all night. Here give them to me and let you go for a snooze.’

Solange looked down at the two tiny babies, still in her arms from where Richard had handed them back to her. They slept soundly, their little fists bunched up tight. They were so pure, so innocent; they knew nothing of ugliness or brutality. For the first time since she had heard the news of Jeremy’s death, she felt something thaw deep inside her.

All that morning, instead of sleeping as Richard and Mrs Canty insisted she must, she lay in bed thinking of the twins and hoping they were all right. When the quiet of the house was finally shattered by a newborn cry, she couldn’t stay in her room. She went downstairs to help Richard who was attempting to feed one while the other bawled in the bassinet.

‘Mrs Canty is just gone for a few messages, we need a few things from the shop. I told her I could manage but…’ Richard was all fingers and thumbs.

Immediately that Solange picked up and cuddled Juliet, she stopped crying. She started to suck on her bottle and began drifting off to sleep again. Then she did the same with James, and soon both babies were fast asleep.

‘You have the magic touch with them, Solange,’ Richard whispered in awe, as they slept cuddled up together.

Gazing into the crib, she said, ‘I think they like to be near each other. They have been close for all this time and now to be separated – it must be a shock.’

‘MADAME?’ SOLANGE TENTATIVELY ENTERED
the bedroom, having first knocked gently on the door.

Edith was awake and propped up on pillows reading a letter that had arrived that morning.

‘Yes, Solange? Did you want something?’ she asked, still reading.

‘I was wondering if you would like to see the babies? I could bring them to you?’ She had contemplated simply walking into the room with the twins but had thought better of it.

‘No thank you, not just now. Are they well?’ Edith asked, as if enquiring about a distant relative.

‘
Oui
, I mean, yes, Madame, they are very well and so beautiful.’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I may come down to see them later. Although I’m sure they are better off not being disturbed from their routine.’ Edith paused in her reading, and looked up. ‘Thank you for your assistance with the births. I am in your debt.’ Her tone conveyed dismissal.

Still, Solange lingered. ‘Madame, I am always happy to help.’

‘Well, yes. It was good you were here.’ Edith returned to her letter.

‘And when you are ready for me to bring the babies to you…’

Edith looked up again with a sigh. ‘Solange, not now, please. This is an important letter from an old friend of mine in Dublin. There are going to be changes in this country. Ireland may not remain the calm and peaceful place you imagine it to be. British imperialism will not be tolerated any longer. Now if you’ll excuse me…’

This time, the implication that Solange was outstaying her welcome was too obvious to ignore.

Chapter 2

T
he weeks that followed were cold but bright. Solange wrapped the babies up well and took them for walks around the garden in their pram. The crocuses that bloomed in profusion around the trees delighted her. Her life had altered so irreparably and so often in these last months that she had lost all sense of continuity and this garden gave her an anchor to cling to in an ever-changing world. It was a comfort to know that spring had come again as it had always done, irrespective of the turmoil in human lives.

Yet the main distraction from her own sorrows came in caring for James and Juliet. She was deeply grateful that the endless demands of two such healthy infants gave her so little time to brood over all she had lost. The twins seemed never to sleep simultaneously and were always hungry. Richard insisted that it was not expected of her that she care for them, but given the continued lack of interest their mother showed in them, there seemed to be no other option. He was so busy with the practice, and Mrs Canty, although a great help, had the household to run. Besides, Solange wanted to look after them. She could sit for hours just holding them and kissing their downy heads.

After Jeremy’s death she had moved as if in a trance. Presumably she had slept and ate, but if so, she had no recollection of it. Life had stretched out in front of her as an endless colourless void of time without him in it, until she herself died. Over and over she thought how things should have been different. He was a doctor, not even on the front line, yet he was dead. She thought too of her Maman and Papa, so full of life and fun. Her mother’s flashing eyes that could make her adoring husband agree to anything she wanted. Her father, who loved his sons and his only daughter with all his heart. But then Maman had got sick, and died – a simple cut on her foot that had turned to blood poisoning. Papa was killed a short while later, shot by a German soldier in reprisal for some imagined slight. Her older brothers had fallen at Verdun, dying side by side as they had lived since early childhood. To be left entirely alone in the world was a terrifying prospect. Yet in those early weeks, all she had thought about was how she could manage to live without Jeremy.

She was by no means over her loss; she doubted she ever would be, but the twins had become her new reality, and she adored them more with each passing day.

Sometimes she felt guilty for loving them as if she was their mother, yet Edith showed only the most cursory of interest in the babies. Once a day – or, on rare occasions, twice – she would descend into the kitchen to glance into their pram. She would enquire as to their health and whether they were eating or sleeping properly, but without any sign of genuine concern. She never picked them up or even looked too closely at them. It really was as if Solange were their mother and Edith a gracious employer enquiring after her housemaid’s children: something to be done as a matter of form, rather than stemming from any real desire to know.

Richard loved the twins and often gave them their bottles; occasionally he even changed a napkin – though not with much success. He asked daily if Edith had been down to see them, and if Solange thought that perhaps this was a question he should be putting to his wife, she gave no indication of it.

Time and again, Solange wondered how the Buckleys’ marriage survived. Their union could not even be described as one of convenience; the entire household seemed to be a source of annoyance to Edith. Solange had long ceased to imagine that Edith’s initial coldness to her had sprung from a natural caution; it was clear to her now that Edith’s
ennui
extended to everyone in her life. Time and again she witnessed Richard trying to get closer to his wife, but each time Edith rebuffed him – avoiding him whenever possible and engaging in brittle conversation with him only when it was necessary. The letters kept on coming – two, sometimes three, a week, from her friends in Dublin, all of whom were, it seemed, involved in the struggle for independence. It was the only subject on which Edith seemed close to animated and, perhaps because her husband showed no interest, she would often explain to Solange certain points regarding Irish politics.

Last week, Edith had summoned Solange to her room.

‘Ah Solange, thank you for coming up. I think we need to talk, to clarify some things. Tell me, are you happy here?’

Solange was nonplussed. ‘
Oui
… I mean, yes of course, Madame. I am very happy and grateful to you and Richard for...’

‘No, I know that, but I think if you are happy to stay we should formalise the arrangement. I mean you are looking after the twins, no doubt admirably, and therefore we should be paying you. It is not reasonable of us to expect you to work for nothing. Now if you don’t wish to do it, then of course there is no obligation on you; we will simply hire a nurse to come in. Please don’t feel pressured due to some sense that you owe us something. That is simply not the case.’

Solange stood there wondering what to say. The thought of anyone else taking care of the babies was abhorrent to her; she loved them so much. Also she had very little money. Jeremy was due a pension, but the process of claiming it was taking a very long time. She did need something to live on, but she wondered if Richard knew about this arrangement Edith was proposing? He was always so adamant that she was a member of the family.

‘Well, Madame, I do love taking care of James and Juliet, so I am happy to do it. I don’t know what else I would do if I did not do that. So yes, if it is acceptable to you and your husband then I would be glad of the job.’

‘Good. That’s settled then. Shall we say two hundred pounds per annum? And one and a half days off per week? Mrs Canty can cover your holidays. Of course, should you require more time off, please just ask and we will arrange it. I think that’s fair.’

Solange was impressed – she hadn’t expected this cool, indifferent woman to be so generous. A nurse generally earned only one hundred pounds and year, and one day off per month was typical. ‘That is most kind, Madame, but please deduct from that my board and lodging.’

‘No. That won’t be necessary. Ordinarily that would be factored in, but these circumstances are far from typical. My husband promised your husband that we would be taking care of you and so we will. Now, there are some details we need to discuss.’

As part of her new role, Solange was to list all the items necessary for the raising of two babies. She should not be thrifty, explained Edith – just simply write down whatever she thought they would require over the coming months, and Richard would see to it that everything was delivered. The babies were to be dressed exclusively from the Munster Arcade in Cork, or Arnott’s in Dublin. Under no circumstances were they to be dressed in anything hand-knitted or bought locally. Prams and other paraphernalia were to come from Dublin also.

RICHARD SIGHED OVER HIS
newspaper, as he ate his breakfast in the kitchen with Solange and the twins.

‘I never realised, when I offered you a life of peace in Ireland, how things would turn out here. This struggle between the British and the IRA is, I fear, going to get worse. God knows how it will end.’ He looked pensive but then seemed to shake himself out of it. ‘Still, it’s a bright spring morning and hopefully someone will get a bit of sense and end this before it escalates. Now, will we take this pair for a stroll before I face the parish and their ailments?’

He pushed one pram and Solange the other around the path that encircled the house. The April sun warmed the old walls of Dunderrig and the garden had sprung to life. At nearly four months, the twins were thriving and loved to lie without blankets and furiously kick their chubby legs.

‘They are so beautiful,
n’est-ce pas
?’ Solange smiled. ‘I don’t know much about this independence war, I don’t read the papers, though I should I suppose, but it just all seems so...’

‘Pointless? Repetitive? Futile?’ Richard suggested.

She nodded. ‘After France and everything that we saw, war seems to be just waste. Nothing else, just waste. People, property, land, villages. I hope this is not the same fate for your home, Richard.’

Their relationship had become less formal in the past months. Richard would always be reticent and she spoke as guardedly as he, but they enjoyed a good relationship. He was becoming more accustomed to fatherhood and was taking more and more of an active role in the care of his children. He’d even mastered changing their napkins. Nothing had improved with their mother, though she did still visit the kitchen once a day to glance briefly at them.

THE TWINS WERE BAPTISED
in the local Catholic parish church and on the morning of the christening, Edith arrived downstairs looking so glamorous that she took Solange’s breath away. She had only seen the doctor’s wife in nightgowns up to then and was amazed to see how elegant Edith could be with her hair pinned in an elegant chignon, and wearing a beautifully tailored dress, cut daringly low at both front and back, with panels of cream sat alongside panels of ivory and white. Solange had never seen anything like it on a real person before, but she had taken to looking over various fashion magazines when Edith had finished with them. So she knew that since the war, when women had learnt to drive cars and wear trousers, they were reluctant to incarcerate themselves once more in torturous corsets and restrictive dresses. The post-war generation was raising hemlines and dropping necklines and, despite living in West Cork, it seemed Edith Buckley was not going to be left behind. For the first time, Solange could see why Richard had married her. She was so beautiful.